Punkin
by I-am-The-Mathgoth
Summary: A new resident wakes up in Halloweentown's cemetery. Rated for language use in future chapters. Chapter 4 up. Read and Review!
1. Grave Wax

_Hi guys! This is my Halloween story. I've been wanting to write one for a while but it took me till the middle of October to do it. _

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When she woke up, she knew was inside something. She knew because her breath blew back in her face almost immediately, and when she tried to sit up, she knocked her head on something hard and dark. She scratched at the material above her head with her nails, feeling it splinter delicately under her fingers. The air was thin and musty. Alarmed, she clawed at the hardness until she broke her nails. It didn't budge. Unable to gather enough breath to scream, she merely kicked with her foot psychotically until the wood finally broke in half and earth spilled over her.

Gagging, she grabbed at handfuls of worms and grubs, of pebbles and sticks and bits of rotted leaves until she was finally able to move forward, and up. The grave, however, was shallow; she climbed through the broken wood and roots frantically until cold hard fingers closed around her wrist and pulled her roughly from the soil.

Fresh, cold air hit her face and lungs.

"Are you alright? Can you walk? Any stiffness in your bones?" asked a voice, cackling at some joke she didn't understand. Her fingers were raw and sore, and her clothes were dirty, her hair matted and stuffed with leaves and bits of wood.

"I…need…a…doctor," she gasped out, drooling unintentionally into the black ground. She spit out a mouth full of dirt.

"Of course, of course! Follow me, we'll get you a doctor, this way dear, watch your step, there you go,"

Unable to keep up with this rapid speech, she merely relied on the cold hands to pull her fully out of the ground, and then suddenly found herself staring into the two, dark, blank holes that made up the eye sockets of a skeleton. The metacarpals holding her hand tightened when her legs wavered under the weight of her realization.

"Did I…am I…who are you?" she tried to focus a little more but there was a piece of something in the corner of her eye. Whatever it was filled her ears too; only now did she finally clear her head enough to hear the rustle of the wind, the scratchy sound of the material in the skeletons striped suit as he moved.

"My name is Jack Skellington," said the skeleton proudly, "what, dear, is your name?"

"Uh…" she thought out loud. "Uh…I don't know." She leaned back on her heels, relishing the way he gripped her arms and kept her from falling back into her own grave. If he wasn't going to let her sit for a second, then he might as well hold her up for a while.

"Oh that's normal," he told her, leaning in to steady his balance, "but I'm sure you'll remember soon enough. Can you walk?"

"Can I sit first, actually?" she asked, already halfway to the ground. He let of her hands and she went down like a rock into the loose soil.

"Sorry, I forget. Are you alright? Can I get you anything?"

She drew her knees up and buried her face into her knees.

"If you could stop talking for a second," she said muffled.

"Of course, sorry."

He stayed quiet. She caught her breath, and then, feeling stupid for making him wait in silence, she raised her head. He was leaning down, looking at her curiously.

"Am I a zombie?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I just crawled out of my own grave. Am I a zombie?"

"Oh possibly," said the talking skeleton, "why? Are you craving brains?"

She turned her head and threw up into the dirt.

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_More coming soon!_


	2. Punkin

_Yeay Jack! Read and Review!_

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Having emptied her stomach of her last meal, the girl stood up shakily and allowed Jack the Talk Skeleton to pull her through the graveyard. Just beyond the gate was a blurry, dark little town. 

"…and we'll get you all situated with living quarters and something to eat and-"

"A change of clothes," said the girl raspily, "and a shower. God I need a shower."

"Of course, whatever you need, we have it all here in Halloweentown-"

"Oh is that where I am?"

She tripped over a half buried tombstone lying cracked on the ground and nearly went down into the corner of an uprooted coffin had Jack the Talking Skeleton not pulled her up by her arm.

"Yes, I'll take you to see the mayor once you're feeling a little more comfortable here and…what's wrong?" The girl stopped walking.

"Marilyn Glass." She said suddenly.

"I'm…sorry?"

"My name is Marilyn Glass, but my daddy called me Punkin."

"Oh, I knew you'd remember. Punkin is it? Welcome to Halloweentown!" he spread his arms widely, Punkin still attached to one of them, as they stepped through the cemetery gate and onto a busy street.

If she wasn't convince that she was dead by the sight of a walk, talking skeleton in a striped suit, she was certain sure when she saw the residents of the town. They lumbered around in grey, tattered clothing, with grey faces and misshapen bodies.

What must have been an actual zombie leered at her from across the street, dripping black goo, possibly his own liquefied organs, out of his grinning mouth. She vaguely remembered reading something about decomposition in a book in high school. The zombie had no hair and only a single, blood-shot eye.

Jack the Talking Skeleton waved to the zombie before dragging her through the uneven streets. The other residents watched them with only a slight surprise. A tiny, grotesquely obese little boy strutted by them. Punkin thought for a second that she saw stitches on his eyelids where his eyes had been sewn shut. The boy turned and watched them disappear around a corner.

"This is Dr. Finkelstein's lab," said Jack, "he's a doctor, he can help. What do you need?"

"Oh that…well, I guess I'm already dead, so I don't need a doctor anymore. I need a mortician." She laughed in a raspy way that hurt her throat. She coughed out some more soil and spit into a garbage can.

"We might want to do something about that," he said, pulling her up by her arm again. The bottom of her dress shirt, her burial shroud actually, lifted, and she saw that crawling from the wood of her coffin had gashed her side nicely. Dirt and mud clung to the open wound.

"Nice," she gasped, and finally wrenched her fingers from his chilling grasp. Poking at the hole in her side, she noticed that though she had cut through the skin, meat, and some fat, it didn't bleed at all. Nor did it hurt. She felt that she could actually tear away that portion of her ribcage and be none the worse for wear.

"This is sick," she stated, pulling her shirt down.

"We can fix it," said the skeleton again.

"Yes we can," Punkin whispered, and let herself be lead up the stairs into the laboratory.

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"And when I was 13, I threw a lit match at my cat and singled its fur. And when I was 8, I decided to never wear a cross again because I didn't want to scare off any vampire that would sneak into my house at night. Isn't that stupid? I was a stupid kid." She leaned back on the table and twitched as she felt another stab of the needle through her skin. It didn't hurt as much as discomfort of the pulling sensation. Like someone pulling yarn through her fingers swiftly. Punkin hoped she wouldn't catch fire.

"Almost done dearie," said the gimp with the removable skull cap. He had been patiently listening, or ignoring her ranting for the last 20 minutes. The thrill of slowly remembering her life was overwhelming. Jack, meanwhile, was poking around curiously at the weird things stuffed in jars of green liquid all over the counters.

With one final pull, the good doctor snapped the thread with his teeth and wheeled his chair back proudly.

"There you go. Good as new. Better, in fact, if I do say so myself…" she fingered the stitching. It was clean, even, and well done. It left only the slightest ripple under her shirt.

"Splendid!" exclaimed the skeleton. He was loud, cheerful, and lively. Which was a strange personality for a living skeleton.

"Would you care for a mirror, dearie?"

"Kay." She hopped off the table as Finkelstein turned his mechanical chair around and handed her a cracked mirror.

She gasped at the sigh of her face. Her nose was gone, her eyes were yellowed and opaque, and her skin was a dirty, mottled grey-green. Opening her mouth in shock, she noticed that her entire mouth was a slimy black color. Her hair had bleached out into a dusty grey, and lay in strands around her ruined face.

Touching her skin, she dropped the mirror and covered her eyes, biting down on a scream.


	3. Fang Face

"It doesn't look that bad!" Punkin appreciated her kindness, but she still felt sick at the thought of what her face now looked like. She touched the skin fearfully, feeling the mold and parchment-like texture around the edges. Her lips were dry and cracked. She could smell her own corpse stench!

She gagged again and Jack pushed another bucket towards her.

"Really, you don't look any worse than anyone here," said the skeleton kindly, but Punkin shook her head.

"I didn't look like this when I was alive," she said in a faint sob, "I was pretty! I was pretty! I had blue eyes and everything!"

"You still are," coaxed the woman gently. She had showed up about an hour ago when Punkin had sat down and refused to move from the center of the lab. Finkelstein rolled himself into the corner and sat there, content to watch the mayhem.

She was a petite woman with very small hands and feet. Her face was a mass of dead skin and stitches, and long, yarn-like red hair. Her lower lip had been sewn on a little crookedly, and she gave Punkin an unintentionally lop-sided smile of encouragement.

"Well…you're not…alive…any more," said Jack hesitantly. He seemed genuinely concerned.

"God!" Punkin buried her face in her hands and heaved again. Though she had been told that her last upchuck session had emptied out anything she could have had in her stomach, she still felt the bile and stomach acid rise up in her throat. She may not need to puke out actual half-digested food, but she could certainly vomit up her stomach if she heaved heavily enough. Instead, she stuck out her tongue and tried to breathe normally.

"The doctor could build you a new face," said Sally the Franken-girl, "he's really very good at what he does."

"The best around!" Jack added.

"How did I even die?" Punkin asked.

No one answered her. Finally, Finkelstein pushed himself forward.

"Who knows! The point is you're here now, and you should stop moping and let me finish my work!" He pointed furiously at the test tubes and Bunsen burners left on, waiting for an experiment that never happened.

"Oh," Punkin sighed, "alright. Whatever." She stood and, with Sally's white arm draped across her shoulders, the three of them walked out into the street.

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"This is the town center," explained Jack as he began his tour of the town. "There's town hall over there, and the witches hut, that's over by the library, and, oh if you want to change your clothes, the costume shop is there by the ghoul's mansion…" he talked her way around town, pointing out landmarks and important plaques with dates and names written on them. Sally followed behind carefully, smiling her twisted smile and wringing her tiny hands. Eventually, she wandered off and left Jack to lead the tour on his own.

Jack walked her to the edge of town, to a suburban area, if Halloweentown had such a place. Digging into his pocket, he gave her a large, brass key with a skull on one end, and oddly shaped ridges on the other.

"This is yours," he stated, knocking on the wooden door. The shack was small, the same size as the surrounding houses, on a narrow street. A lantern hung over her neighbor's door, lighting the alley cheerfully in shades of amber and orange.

"Oh. I live here?"

"Course. It's new of course, this town's always expanding, and – " he was cut off as a group of boys flew by them that instant. They had black bags of something, and the one closest to Punkin reached in and pulled out a red marble. Hooting madly, they threw them at Jack and Punkin. They exploded in purple sparks and red smoke. A crimson stain spread over Jack's front. He growled under his breath. Punkin was startled at the change in his expression. His teeth jutted out menacingly over his lipless mouth, and his eyes narrowed in anger. Wiping off his suit, he turned to her.

"You might want to avoid them," he said gravely. She turned to watch the boys leap out of sight down the street. One of them turned and ran backwards, throwing one last purple marble at her. She ducked. The explosion hit the door, staining the wood.

"Lousy monsters," Jack mumbled, "vampires thinking they can just run the town straight into-"

"Vampires? Those _were_ vampires? Real ones?" Punkin widened her dead eyes and watched them disappear around the corner, hooting like wild animals.

"Yes. That was the Fang Gang. I don't recommend you buddy up to those boys. They're…harmless, but a nuisance. They only get into trouble."

"Real live, actual vampires? Oh my god, do they drink blood? Can they turn into bats?" she grasped Jack's sleeve and tugged furiously.

"No, they're real, _dead_, actual vampires. And like I said, don't-"

"Buddy up, got it."

He opened the door to her apartment and stuck his head inside.

"It bare now," he stated, his voice echoing in the room, "but I'm sure our denizens will be more than happy to help you out. I'll talk to some people who might be able to provide you with some furniture. I'll see you in a few hours. Get some rest now!" he pushed her inside and shut the door. The single candle on the table did nothing to illuminate the depressing room. She had a bed, a lump mattress, and a table and chair with three legs. She sunk into the uncomfortable mattress and slept for 13 hours before she was awakened by loud noises outside her door.

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_Bleh! I wrote these three chapaters in one night, over the course of two hours. Im tired and cranky. Read and review y'all!_


	4. Girly

_Wrote this listening to Fiona Apple's version of "Sally's Song" and Symphony Switchblades "Gothic Industrial" song thingie. I decided that to be the theme song for the boys.

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_"Hey girly!"_

She rolled over on the lumpy mattress and groaned.

"_Wake up girly!"_

A face was pressed against the window. Two gleaming red eyes watched her sleep. Once they saw Punkin stir, they turned back and yelled something into the street.

_"Come play girly!"_

"_Yeah! We don't bite!"_ a chorus of voices cackled wildly in unison.

"Go away!" Punkin moaned into her pillow.

_"But girly! We brought gifts!"_ Half a dozen hands knocked on the doors. Pulling herself out of the bed, Punkin dragged her heavy limbs to the window. A bright, orange sun glowed in the sky. 6 boys, the horde of them that had been throwing the explosive marbles, were gathered around the doorway and windows. Seeing her face, they started laughing and banging on the walls with the palms of their hands. One of them howled like a wolf.

"Leave me alone!" She called angrily and slammed the inner shutters. Another hoot of laughter was sent up.

"But girly! Hey girly! We brought you presents! Open up girly!" They sang like a single entity almost, like a giant blot of black clothes and grey skin and red eyes, never still or quiet. When it became apparent that none of the boys was planning on leaving anytime soon, she cracked her door open a little bit. A large red eye leaned in. Black fingernails dug into the door and wrenched the door nearly off the hinges. The boys laughed.

"Hi new girl," said the boy who opened her door. Punkin hid behind the door frame and watched them carefully.

"Aww," said a different boy, "come on girly! We won't come in. We can't! You have to invite us."

"Then will you leave already?"

The boy at the door way grinned, revealing a mouth of gleaming white teeth. It seemed that the vampire myth of sharp canines was untrue; this youth had an entire mouth full of sharp teeth like a shark. Noticing her eyes straying to his mouth, he snapped his jaw, and growled playfully. Another boy punched his shoulder.

"Quit scaring the new girl, Graves!" The one apparently named Graves locked his lips together but gave her a smug smile nonetheless.

"I'm Graves," he said, as though that wasn't already obvious. He jabbed a thumb at the other boys, and began rattling off their names. "That's Manson, Spider, that's Jolly Rog' over there, and Pinhead, and Killer. Say hi boys." They all waved at. She noticed that the gang uniform seemed to include typically gothic black shirts and pants, but also a various assortment of uses for random zippers and buckles. One of the boys had biker gloves held together with what looked like staples that bit into his skin. The staples continued long after the gloves had ended at his wrists and actually slid to his shoulder. Vague, angry looking wounds accompanied the staples. They all had long hair ranging from a shaggy cut to long shoulder length locks. They ran the gamut from a shiny black to a dusty grey. However, they all had red eyes and pale skin.

The boy named "Killer" raised a hand and crocked his finger at Punkin. He was wearing black gloves that covered his hands and a trench coat with a high collar. It could have been a traditional Dracula cape for all she could tell.

"Come on girly," he said in a raspy, deep voice, "we brought you some house warming gifts." the boys gathered around the doorway excitedly.

"No thanks," she said timidly, "but um...why don't you bring it here?"

Killer cackled maniacaly. A wind suddenly stirred up, and floated Punkins skirt, the very edge of the hem, forward. Killer immediately grabbed it and pulled. She found herself staggering forward, loosing her balance, and if Killer hadn't have caught her, she might have fallen straight into the mud. Squirming violently, she tried to pull herself away from him. Instead, he only grasped her arms tighter, while the rest of the boys hoisted her over their heads. In a minute, they were crowd surfing her down the street, running in a pack. Killer kept his hands firmly on her waist. Almost her entire weight rested on top of his head, which was digging into her back. She screeched. During the Halloween day however, there was no one awake. At least, no one that would help her.

They pulled through the streets, into parts of town she hadn't even seen yet, before finally stopping at the gates of a junk yard. Here, they let her down on her feet. Manson kicked open the gate with one giant spiked boot. His wild grey hair blew in another gust of wind.

_"New girl!"_ they yelled into the vast hills of old mattresses and garbage, "_new girl! ZOMBIE GIRL!"_

"I'm not a zombie!" she tried to yell. Killer had one arm around her waist, the other wrapped in what was left of her hair, keeping her head still. She tried to pry her fingers in between her stomach and his arms, but he held her in a vice grip. Finding that to not work, she reached up and pulled his hand. Taking some chunks of pale hair with it, she pulled it to her face and bit down on the knuckle.

"Hey there, zombie girly!" he yelled, dropping her. She ran as fast as her legs let her back down the street. She heard their laughter as they followed. Despite their speed and strength, they made no attempt to catch her. Instead, they merely ran ahead and hid behind garbage cans and in doorways, hooting as she ran past. The one called Spider cut her off before she could escape down an alley, and Graves snapped at her when she paused to check behind her. Breathing hard, she turn down another alley. Killer caught up with her and pushed her forward. She saw the lantern of her own house lit like a becon down the street.

"Run home girly!" he rasped, "run home!" She fled undisturbed to the door and threw herself inside. She heard the laughter die away. And then all she heard was her own hard breathing.

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_Read and review!!!_


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